Perfect Storm
by S. Faith
Summary: One discontented fiancé, one ex-lover who wronged the fiancé… in forced close quarters? Oh, it's a perfect storm for Bridget, all right.


**Perfect Storm**

By S. Faith, © 2011

Words: 4,063  
><span>Rating<span>: T / PG-13 (some cursing though)  
><span>Summary<span>: One discontented fiancé, one ex-lover who wronged said fiancé… in forced close quarters? Oh, it's a perfect storm for Bridget, all right.  
><span>Disclaimer<span>: Not mine!  
><span>Notes<span>: If you're expecting something involving the number three, you will be disappointed.

* * *

><p>"This is <em>not<em> happening."

In the mountains, far from any unexpected human contact, was the last place she ever expected him to show up; but of course he would, because he knew where she was, and was not one to let a row go unresolved.

"It is."

He glowered down at her. She sighed, started to shiver with the cold air coming in through the door, then turned away. "Might as well come in," she mumbled.

"Gracious of you," he said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

Once he was inside the cabin, he stomped the snow from his feet, slipped off his coat and hung it on a peg of the wooden coat tree by the door.

"So, Mark. You came all this way… to prove a point?" she asked. She stood with her hands on her hips.

He turned back to her. "More or less, yes."

She rolled her eyes and turned away. "If it wasn't freezing cold outside I would have told you to get lost. As I told you, I'm perfectly fine on my own."

"And as I told _you_," he shot back, "it's not you I don't trust. It's _him_."

"Here we go again," she said, running her hand back through her hair; his appearance had ruined her lovely, relaxing night. "I am not so weak or foolish as to allow that man to try anything with me."

He didn't say anything for so long she turned to look at him once more. "I know, Bridget," he said; frankly, he looked a bit defeated, and that surprised her. "I guess I just don't understand why we are arguing about my wanting to be here with you, regardless of whether or not _he's_ here."

She didn't reply, mostly because she didn't know what to say; she'd been so stubborn and had reacted so poorly to his suggestion he join her for this work trip because she'd assumed he only wanted to keep tabs on her, but that really had not been fair. Why shouldn't she have brought along her fiancé and made a nice little retreat of it while she wasn't working?

At that moment, before she could say a word to concede that perhaps she had overreacted, there was a pounding on the door to the cabin. She whipped her head around. "What the _hell_," she said, sighing heavily, then turned for the door, halting in her tracks when she heard the voice from without—

"Jones? You all right in there?"

"Ohfuck," she said.

Mark heard the voice too, and obviously recognised it; his features clouded over then passed straight on into angry. He stalked past her, reached for the knob and yanked open the door, sucking in a great rush of snow flurries into the room, which confused her, as it had not been snowing like that moments before.

"Darcy," came the startled response from the figure at the door. As the air cleared, said figure indeed proved to be Daniel Cleaver, former fuckwit of a boyfriend and current co-presenter for _The Smooth Guide_. "Saw a hulking figure lurking at the front door. Got a bit worried. Should have guessed you'd turn up like some kind of bloody stalker."

"And why were _you_ watching her cabin, Cleaver?" Mark shot back. "Go on back to your own."

"Let's not have any pissing matches," warned Bridget. She realised immediately that she would get nowhere by matching their anger. In a calm, placating tone, she started again. "Daniel, as you can see, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern." She turned to Mark, willing his dark expression to soften through her own gaze. "Go pour yourself a glass of wine and unwind, because we can't talk rationally if we're irritated."

Mark blinked, and with that small action his features smoothed out, his eyes grew gentler and kinder again. "Of course, darling," he said. He shot one last look to Daniel; his tone went cold again. "I believe she asked you to leave."

Daniel held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, you don't have to ask me twice." He opened the door again and more snow came swirling in, even denser than before. "See you in the morning, Jones."

"Good night," she said, feeling suddenly nervous about filming beginning tomorrow, and as he closed the door after himself she brought her hand up to pinch the corners of her eyes together with thumb and forefinger. She took in a deep, reassuring breath, then turned to face Mark. He was just returning from the kitchen area with two glasses of wine.

"I have one already," she said sheepishly; he looked over and spotted the table by the fireplace, indeed occupied by her wineglass. "I'm sure I'll want more," she added supportively, offering a small smile.

They sat together on the sofa; she reached for her wine just as he sat back with his own. "Mark," she began, "I'm really—" She was interrupted once more by the sound of pounding on the door. "Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!" she cursed, setting her glass down again so roughly the wine splashed up and over the rim and onto the back of her hand. Wiping the wine off on her trouser leg, she went to the door and without thinking yanked it open. It was Daniel again, and the snowstorm had turned into a blizzard.

"Sorry, Jones. White-out conditions," he said, rather stating what was quite obvious. She stepped back to allow him entrance; he shook the snow off of his coat then slipped it from his shoulders. "Came out of nowhere. I could get lost trying to find a cabin just a few hundred feet away. Was lucky to find your door again."

"Lucky for whom?" said Mark in a low snarl.

She slammed the door shut with as much force as the blowing wind would allow, which unfortunately did not result in the satisfying bang she'd intended. "Mark, really," she said. "Anyway. There's nothing to be done about it. We're all adults; we can sit, I'll get the fire going, and we can enjoy it until the storm passes. Shouldn't be too long, right?"

"I'll do it," said both men at the same time.

"I'm not going to burn the place down," she said, crouching by the fireplace.

"You might."

Again they had spoken in tandem. She turned and glared at the both of them. "I should toss you _both_ out into the snow." She turned back to the fireplace, picked up the fire starter stick in one hand then with the other grabbed one of the long fireplace matches and tried to get it to light.

"You have to put the fire starter under—"

"I can do this on my own, Mark," she interrupted, but took his suggestion to put the fire starter under the stack of wood first. She struck the match then pushed it between the logs to catch the corner of the fire starter alight.

"Cleaver," said Mark dangerously.

"What?" Daniel responded with slight defensiveness. "I'm just enjoying the view. Jones, those jeans have always been very flattering—"

She turned and glared at him, which caused him to stop speaking immediately. They were both still standing there, almost at attention, as if _en garde_. "Sit down, already, and have some wine," she said, indicating the extra glass Mark had brought over. "You too," she said to Mark.

With a quickly exhaled breath, Mark went back over to the sofa, resumed his seat and took his wine in hand. "Sit over there," he said to Daniel, indicating the recliner.

"Don't worry," said Daniel as he sat, "I'm not going to jump her bones or anything. God knows your presence is a wet blanket, Darce, as always." His eyes lazily fell to Bridget again as he swirled the wine around in the untouched glass. "Although… Hmmm. What do you think?"

"What do I think about what?" Mark asked impatiently.

"Objectively speaking, of course: doesn't she look eminently shaggable in those jeans?"

Mark's eyes practically shot lightning bolts towards his former rival. "If you don't stop—" he began threateningly, but was interrupted when she stomped her foot hard on the wood floor.

"That. Is. Enough," she said angrily, her fists planted firmly on her hips. "All I wanted is a relaxing evening before filming and instead I get two men bickering like a pair of squawking roosters. Can't you two just put the past behind you and get over it?" She looked to each of them in turn. "Daniel, stop antagonising him and just apologise already for what you did, like you apologised for what you did to me, and we can get on with life."

Daniel sat back and snorted in a sort of disbelief. "Do you really think I haven't tried, Bridge?"

She furrowed her brows, then went over to take her seat beside Mark, reaching for his hand, which he seemed reluctant to give her. "Is this true?"

"I didn't want to hear excuses," he said after a moment.

"You didn't want the truth," said Daniel.

"The truth?" said Mark. "That our friendship meant less to you than a quick fuck?"

Daniel looked as stunned as she felt to hear Mark use such language. "So it's all on me, then? No blame for her? Do you think I planned and schemed to sleep with her?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Guess it's just easier to think your wife was a saint and me a scoundrel."

As Daniel took a long sip of wine, Mark said, "I never said she was a saint, but I knew you well enough, _know_ you well enough, to know what you're capable of."

"Capable of hurting someone I thought of as a friend, almost a brother, just for sex? No." He set down the wineglass again. "Like it or not, you're having the truth. She's the one who took advantage of me. I'm not saying I'm innocent in the matter; I was completely off my face when I showed up, kept allowing her to persuade me to have 'just one more drink' until you got home, and then… things got too far out of hand. But to think I would have planned something like this to hurt you, or as if I… I don't know, _loved_ her or something… is just madness."

"I never thought you loved her," Mark scoffed.

"I could say the same," Daniel retorted. "And as for her? I think you like to labour under the delusion that the harpy cared for you, maybe even more than you cared for her, but she didn't." Mark seemed about ready to object but Daniel barrelled on. "Hate to be that brutally frank when I know how much you despise talking of emotional matters, but there it is: A woman sleeps with her husband's best man, his best _friend_, only two weeks after the wedding—on Christmas bloody Eve, no less—and _he's_ the one shouldering all the blame?" he asked. "My powers of seduction may have achieved legendary status in your head, but honestly, if they were that formidable, I would have won back Bridge whilst in Thailand. She _still_ had scruples about hurting you, and you weren't even together anymore."

Mark found his voice again. "That speaks more about her feelings for me—"

"Than your own wife's," finished Daniel.

The silence was resounding; Bridget could hear only the thump of her own pulse in her ears. She was glad that the two of them were airing their grievances at last, but she almost wished she were not present. In order to cope the best way she knew how given the circumstances, she tentatively reached forward for her wine.

She heard a low sound of amusement coming from Daniel, who then said, "Good idea." She glanced up and saw Daniel reclaim his wine, tip the glass back and take a good long sip. She then turned her gaze to Mark, who sat there quietly, obviously mired in his own thoughts. She placed her free hand on his knee, which brought him to the present and brought his gaze to meet hers.

"Did he really?" came his whispered question.

Before she had a chance to ask what Mark meant, she understood: he wanted to know if Daniel really had apologised. "He did," she said. "And yes, I did forgive him. It was very freeing, Mark." She glanced to Daniel and said with some bemusement, hoping to lighten the mood, "Mind you, I wouldn't want to share a cabin with him…"

"Outside of blizzard conditions, you mean," Daniel added.

"Obviously." She squeezed Mark's hand; he had shifted his gaze down. "It is not a sign of weakness to accept an apology. Besides, aren't you glad to know in this case that you were wrong?"

Mark looked to her again, as if stunned by her words.

"Because God knows you're _never_ wrong," she added with a smirk.

This elicited not only a small chuckle from Daniel, but a hint of a smile from Mark.

"But he's constantly trying to…"

"To what?"

"Win you back," he finished in an almost sheepish tone.

"That's bollocks. I mean, that might've been true once, but now? I don't think so. Daniel's like a puppy, you know," said Bridget. "Can't control his urge in public. To flirt I mean. In fact, I caught him flirting with the sandwich cart attendant just last week."

"She's nothing if she's a day over eighty," commented Daniel.

"Once you accept he does not do it to make you angry, and certainly not to sway me from you… you'll be a lot happier. We all will."

Daniel piped up: "I could flirt with you, too, if it would make you feel better."

"Not necessary," said Mark, then added, "An… an apology would suffice."

"You're sure?" he asked. "Just an apology? Because you're looking very trim these days…" He went serious again. "Mark, I _am_ sorry about what happened with your ex-wife. If I had it all to do over again, I would never have gone to your house shitfaced, or at the very least, would not have accepted any more to drink."

Mark looked as stoic as ever, but the ever-so-slight glossing of his eyes told her that he was very deeply moved. "Apology accepted."

After a thoughtful moment, Daniel took in a deep breath then let it out. He might have been attempting an unaffected air, but she knew that he, too, was moved. "You're sure you don't want a flirtatious comment?"

Mark smiled. "Positive."

"Right." Daniel turned to Bridget. "Thank you."

"What for? _I_ didn't make it snow."

The two men started to chuckle. "For interceding on my behalf," Daniel explained. "You've managed to accomplish what no one else did."

"What no one else could have done," corrected Mark. He reached forward for his wine, then held it aloft. "To Bridget, the light and love of my life," he said. "I hope you never keep trying to make wrongs right, and I hope I never stop making you happy."

"Hear, hear," said Daniel as the rims of all of their glasses touched, "because if I have to use that excuse, I'll do it."

"Excuse to do what?"

"Call you to the street to a fight," said Daniel.

They each drank their wine, and when she finished hers and set the glass down, she felt him tug at her jumper sleeve. She smiled then snuggled back into where Mark had settled into the arm of the sofa and curled into his embrace. He kissed the crown of her head, and as he did she closed her eyes contentedly. Judging solely by his ease of posture, she swore Mark was lighter in mood than he had been for some time. As they sat there, she felt very cosy and warm, felt like she might drift off to sleep; she was thankful she got her relaxing night in after all, but even more grateful that Mark was there with her, and that his animosity with Daniel had been worked out.

"Here, I'll take that," said Daniel. "Don't want to wake her."

She was not sleeping at all, but out of curiosity she allowed them to think she was. Cracking her eye open she said that Daniel had leaned in to relieve Mark of his empty glass.

"Looks like an angel when she's sleeping," Daniel added. "Lovely."

"She does," said Mark. "Though far from angelic." After a pause, he added, "As you well know."

For Mark to reference her relationship with Daniel… it indicated he was well on the path to healing, and Daniel seemed to pick up on that. "She seems very happy," said Daniel after a moment. "I'm glad. She deserves that."

"Thank you," Mark said.

"I was serious, you know," Daniel went on. "I'll never be able to stop the flirting—it's just part of who I am—"

"I know."

"—but you can be assured that I would never try to seduce her away from you. Not that I'd have a chance. But you know… you deserve to be happy, too."

Mark was silent again, and when he spoke next his voice sounded emotional. "That means a lot." She did not dare open her eyes to gauge his expression. "So," he started again, clearing his throat gently, "have you been seeing anyone lately? Bridget mentioned shortly after our engagement that you were and… I'm afraid my reaction was not a good one." _Understatement_, she thought; his glare at her mention of Daniel could have frozen the fires of hell. "I didn't like to think you and she were speaking about personal matters."

Daniel laughed a little. "She must have meant Sarah, but no, wait… Sarah was _after_ Emma, who chucked me for shagging Beth at the same time…. But, well, you know. Nothing to write home about," Daniel said. "Ran into Irene, though—do you remember her from Cambridge?"

"Vaguely," said Mark.

"She was slightly obsessed with me," he said.

"You thought all girls were slightly obsessed with you."

"Pish-tosh; this girl really was. Still is. Watches me on the telly and nearly wet herself when I asked her for dinner." She felt Mark rumble from beneath her with a silent laugh. "We're fixed for some time after I get back from the shoot."

"With an aim for something long term?"

"I never aim for that anymore," said Daniel. "I play it by ear. Want some more wine?"

"Sure." After she heard the recliner creak, heard footsteps on the floor, Mark asked, "What do you mean, 'anymore'? Do you mean…" He trailed off.

"Yes," Daniel said, his voice slightly more distant; she heard wine-pouring sounds. "But obviously, and to your great benefit, I failed miserably."

She realised what Daniel meant: his relationship with her had been an attempt at something serious and meaningful, that she had been special to him and not just another piece of totty or roll in the hay. It made her feel sentimental. _Poor Daniel_, she thought.

They continued to talk like two old friends who hadn't seen one another in far too long, and in a sense they were just that. With each exchange they seemed more at ease and friendlier with one another, much more willing to chuckle and tease. It was only when she could no longer ignore the urge to use the toilet that she stirred in his arms and yawned, blinking her eyes then opening them.

"Oh, sorry," she said, sitting up and stretching her arms in front of her. "Must have fallen asleep."

"Can't hold your drink, tsk," teased Daniel. He bent his head; she realised he was attempting to peer through the window. "Looks like the snow's eased up." He got to his feet. "Probably ought to strike out into it."

"Sir Edmund Hillary has nothing on you," quipped Mark.

Daniel quirked a smile as he donned his coat again. "I'll let myself out. Thanks again… for everything." He looked pointedly at Bridget as he said it. "Until the morning."

As the door closed behind him, she stood and padded towards the toilet; Mark rose and went to ensure the cabin door was locked. As she returned to the main room, she found he was regarding her with a tender expression.

"What?"

He strode up to her, took her in his arms and kissed her before holding her close. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too," she said, feeling slightly perplexed at this sudden declaration; not that she didn't know it to be true, it was just a strange time to say it.

"Even if you are a big faker," he teased.

"What?" she replied with an unconvincingly innocent tone.

"I don't think you were sleeping at all," he said. "But that's all right." He kissed her again, running his hand over her backside. "It was a good night."

She chuckled; he was always so frisky when in a good mood, not that she minded in the least. "I'm glad."

"I'd forgotten how easily he could make me laugh." He kissed her again at length. "You really are a wonder," he murmured.

"Practically a miracle worker," she said, then pulled back to meet his eye. "I'm sorry I reacted so badly to your wanting to come. I should have just been happy that you did."

"That's all forgotten," he said. "But if you insist, it's not yet so late that we can't make up."

She chuckled, and with that she kissed him, led him to the fireside and pushed him down onto the sofa. At his quizzical look, she said, "I'm a sucker for a romantic fireplace," to which he chuckled, reached for her hand and pulled her down to sit beside him. Systematically he freed her from her clothing and replaced each garment with tender kisses to bare skin.

Afterwards as they lay sprawled amongst the blankets, sighing and catching their respective breaths, Mark tenderly kissed the hair at her temple. "Perhaps we should… go to bed. Long day tomorrow."

"We should," she said, settling her cheek onto his chest. Her lids drooped; with the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, she was quickly lulled to sleep.

It was a steady knocking that brought her from sleep; the cabin was bathed in full light. She stirred, waking Mark, and looked to the window beside the door in time to see Daniel waving through the window with a gloved hand.

"Bugger."

She pushed herself upright, tugging the blanket up over her chest, as Mark grabbed another and brought it around his waist.

"I should have considered he might want to try to watch us through the window," Bridget joked weakly. Mark laughed.

"Having second thoughts about friendship-mending," he said as he went to the door. "Won't get a moment's peace, will I?"

"I'm going to go put something on," she said, scooping up the clothes from the floor then stumbling towards the bedroom.

When she returned to the main room she saw Daniel sitting at the kitchen table and Mark hovering by the entrance. Daniel must have brought breakfast, which he was unpacking from a white bag.

"I'm going to… dress," said Mark. "Put some coffee on?"

She did as he asked. Daniel said, "Brought some pastries. Far be it from me to forget your love for chocolate croissant."

"Thank you," she said, getting the little coffeepot to burbling.

"Looks like all was smoothed over," Daniel said as she faced him again.

"Yes," she said, then smiled. "It certainly seems so."

"I meant you and Mark."

"I know," she said. "And I meant _you_ and Mark."

He grinned, and she thought he had an air of peace about him that she had never seen. "Thank you."

She tipped her head to the side then nodded, then took a seat in order to wait for the coffee to finish. "Don't mention it."

As Mark returned, he saw the pastries had been distributed. He grinned. "Apricot turnover for me," he said, observing which chair (and pastry) was yet unclaimed.

"Of course."

Bridget and Daniel shared a look after sharing words, then both began to laugh. As Mark poured three mugs of coffee, Bridget could only think that this snowy scenario was far, far better than coming to blows through the plate glass window of a Greek restaurant.

_The end._


End file.
